


fearless

by hahaharley



Category: Prisoners (2013)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:45:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hahaharley/pseuds/hahaharley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he ever took the time to think about his primary drives and rank them in order, the need to help people would be number one. The desire to control his environment might factor in as well.</p><p>Fear wouldn’t even make the list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing. I... really liked Prisoners, David Loki climbed unexpectedly beneath my skin and wouldn't leave, I couldn't stop thinking about him, wondering about his background, his day-to-day-- one road trip later and I was left with several short pieces and a rough plan for some more. I figured as long as I was writing it down, I might as well share, yeah? 
> 
> It isn't exactly poetry, but it's the way I achieve catharsis after a movie like that, so maybe it'll resonate anyway. See you on the other side.

He talks like a cop.

Not that unusual. He _is_ a cop, after all—worked the beat for six years before moving up to Detective two years ago. Still, he finds himself employing the familiar phrases even off the clock. _“I hear you. I understand what you’re saying. Here’s what I need you to do for me. Okay? You understand what I’m telling you? Everything’s under control._ ” All phrases trained into a cop, designed to reassure, to control, to establish authority over the situation at hand.

He supposed it was inevitable that they would eventually bleed into what little personal life he has. He spends so much time on the job that his work self is more his real self than the person he is at home, alone in his shitbox apartment. Besides, he’s never been much good at talking to people. “Brusque” is a word that social workers frequently used on their reports about him even in his childhood—and when it wasn’t that, it was “quiet,” though that was something of an understatement. Put it this way: if he was a doctor, his beside manner would be atrocious. Probably even horrifying.

He isn’t a sociopath. He feels empathy, too much of it, even, but he never learned how to express it—and even if he’d known how, there was no one to express it _to_. When he was a child, a teenager, the weight of it all would inevitably manifest in silent, destructive rages, but that almost never happens anymore. The cop talk helps. Though the phrases might sound stiff to some—unconcerned, impersonal—for him, they’re a useful tool.

A way for someone who never learned how to properly express the sentiment to people to say he cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one will be longer. There will be more backstory. I promise.


	2. bygone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *puts this chapter down and scuttles away quickly bc backstory for someone like Loki makes me nervous and convinced that I'm doing something terribly wrong*

Twenty-nine year-old detectives are not the norm, even in fairly barren precincts. It takes a lot of drive, a lot of persistence.

David Loki has both in generous measure.

He didn’t always know that he wanted to make detective—hell, for a long time, he didn’t even know he wanted to be in law enforcement. He was what social workers liked to call “troubled,” though he wouldn’t agree with that descriptor even then. At least, no more than any pubescent kid. _Different_ , sure, but he wasn’t exactly drowning kittens and picking on the littler kids. Quite the opposite, really.

Loki can’t pinpoint the exact moment when he’d become committed to law and order. His parents weren’t murdered by some fluke of the parole system (his dad had never been around; his mom died of a particularly aggressive strain of lung cancer when he was six—of course, it didn’t help that she could barely make rent on her waitress’s wages, let alone medical bills). He wasn’t abused (at least, no more than was normal for foster parents before he grew tall enough to make them think twice about dealing out casual swats) or molested, though he knew kids who _had_ been. Even as a child, Loki emanated something that made it clear that he was no one’s prey.

Quite the opposite, really.

He supposes, when he takes the time to think about it, that it was the environment in which he had grown. Huntington Boys’ Home where he’d gone into right after his mother’s death, the home sponsored by the church where she had attended mass faithfully every week, toting little David along with her, wasn’t so bad. The dog-eat-dog dynamic wasn’t as pronounced as he’d find it later in the foster system, not with the severe Sisters watching over them with the constant reminders that Jesus expected them to love one another. Still, there was no shortage of bigger kids picking on little ones, sometimes to the point of really hurting them, and as little as he was, it was there that Loki took up the habit of fighting bullies.

It was a habit that got him expelled from temporary homes over and over again, starting with Huntington once he finally drove them to the end of their understanding and continuing well into his teenage years. It didn’t much bother him, though. He’d never grown close to the Sisters, even as young as he was when he came to them, and he definitely never bonded with his foster families. It bothered him a little as a teenager ,the way he seemed incapable of developing relationships with people, but eventually, he let it go. It wasn’t that he didn’t _care_ about people—he did, he _really_ did. He just was only capable of caring from a distance.

Which was an understanding that actually helped him determine his career path.

As a child, Loki himself wasn’t much for getting in actual legal trouble outside of his boyhood skirmishes, but he certainly had foster siblings that were, so he had plenty of opportunity to observe police officers at work. The good ones embodied his drive to protect those weaker than himself. The bad ones—and there were plenty of bad ones—were, in his eyes, bullies who would best be dealt with by someone their own size.

He wanted to be more than just a cop, though. He never thought about it in such sentimental terms, but… he knew there were hundreds, thousands, even, of people out there who desperately needed help, people that the system had given up on or overlooked—people like the little kids at his foster homes who got their faces shoved into brick walls every day on the way home from school.

Loki could help those people. Whether it was his personality, the patently unboyish solemnity and the willingness to fight back that seemed to repel would-be attackers, or whether it was something less logical, he knew he was designed to _help_.

Once he found a purpose, he encountered not a single quandary that was a match for him.

First goal: a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice.

Easy said.

First, Loki had to repair his dismal record in high school. He was far from stupid, but grew impatient with mundane tasks with little payoff, and so his track record for the first few years was not impressive. Once he decided that he was going to be a detective, though, his grades made an abrupt about-face and stayed high until he graduated, miraculously on time and with a decent enough overall GPA to get into state college.

That was where things got tricky.

Newly eighteen, he’d finally been cut loose from the foster care system. They didn’t just drop you, of course; you were assigned a social worker to make sure you had an apartment, a job, things like that. Being out of foster care wasn't the problem—the problem was that he had his own bills to pay, not many job options with his limited qualifications, and he was planning on four years of college with all its related expenses—and given the first few years fucking around in high school, his overall GPA, while enough to get him into school, was nowhere near good enough for scholarships.

He bit the bullet. He took out student loans.

It wasn’t so bad, really. Tuition hadn’t gotten quite as expensive as it eventually would, and the interest rate was fairly low. He supplemented the loans with a full-time job, working nights in the kitchen of a local diner—not exactly glamorous, but it paid minimum wage, and given that most jobs available for high school graduates dealt in customer service (i.e. required people skills, something Loki did not possess), it wasn’t terrible.

And he liked criminal science. Even working forty hours a week and going to school full-time, he didn’t have to struggle too much when it came to grasping his major. The texts made sense to him, another point in favor of his chosen career path.

He graduated a year late—there was only so much a man could do even _if_ he was working as hard as he could—and spent the summer getting in shape (a diet of ramen noodles and multivitamins to ward off jaundice was hell on a man’s body, making him soft in the wrong places and bony in all the _other_ wrong places) and preparing for the physical tests and entry exam.

He cleared them with flying colors.

His first day, he made sure the precinct captain knew of his aspirations—not arrogantly or with any sort of presumption, but steadily and matter-of-fact.

Captain O’Malley just looked him over and said, “Well, we’ll see about that, son. First you gotta pay your dues.”

And Loki, who had been paying dues towards this job in one way or another since he was six years old, said “Yes, sir” and got to work.

Five more years passed. The work was hard, dangerous, and often ugly, but Loki never faltered, often putting in sixty hours a week—it would have been more, but the captain utterly drew the line there, saying that the work was dangerous enough without sleep deprivation making his officers clumsy to boot. Loki found a way to make his hours off-duty matter, anyway—he spent the time at home reviewing his textbooks, committing helpful information to memory, testing himself constantly.

And once a month, he submitted an official query, in writing, about the detective job.

Shortly after he turned twenty-eight, one of the older detectives on staff, Laprey, retired. Loki upped the queries from monthly to daily and doggedly refused to get his hopes up. There were officers that had been there longer than he had that wanted the job, and seniority meant a lot on this business.

One day, he walked in and the badge was sitting on his desk.

Captain O’Malley knew him as well as anyone could at this point, knew he wouldn’t appreciate a big announcement in full view of everyone, so it was just that, the badge, laying solitary in the center of the neat surface.

Loki reached down and ran his fingertips along the cold edge of the metal.

And, what felt for the first time in ten years, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen the conclusion drawn that due to his tattoos in such visible places, Loki must have had some kind of criminal past before becoming detective, but I found that idea unlikely given how young he is and how much time it takes to actually _become_ a detective. I figured there's no way he'd make detective that young if he'd had any sort of criminal record past the age of eighteen. He also seems to genuinely respect the law-- not that he abides strictly by the book all the time, but he's a far cry from the "uncontrollable rogue cop" trope, and his work is very meticulous and attentive to the rules (even when he's flouting them). I think someone with a criminal past even as a teenager would be way more on the rogue cop side of things than the opposite, so I don't really see him getting into trouble except that which he encounters in trying to protect people. So. There's the reasoning behind _that_.
> 
> I also think that given his exchange with the waitress the first time we see him, he's probably deeply in debt. Given that you pretty much have to have a degree if you want to make detective before you're fifty, it's not hard to guess why.
> 
> More to come.


	3. asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you _so_ much, everyone who gave kudos, bookmarked, or read! It's always encouraging to know that people are up for reading fic even in obscure fandoms/for films that don't have ton of fandom presence. Thanks!

It’s been a long time since Loki lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling and waiting for either sleep to take him or for the eternal dark hours to give way to gray dawn. It used to happen almost every night, but somewhere along the line, he realized how much time he was wasting, waiting for sleep that would never come.

He presumes that Dr. Thatcher—the first of the short list of psychologists on call whenever an officer needs (or is ordered to take part in) therapy—would attribute the insomnia to anxiety and fears of losing control. Loki only _presumes_ because he avoids shrinks like the plague after having to talk to a battery of them throughout his childhood, especially right before landing in a new foster home. He would disagree with the diagnosis, anyway. He’s not _afraid_ —if there’s anything Loki is sure about, it’s that fear has almost no place in his life, and when it does worm its way in, it’s almost never for himself.

The insomnia comes, quite simply, from his inability—or unwillingness—to put his mind to rest when he knows there are problems to be solved. It just won’t slow down, even when the rest of the state is peacefully sleeping.

He quit fighting it. These days, he doesn’t go to sleep until he’s utterly exhausted to the point of uselessness, and his stamina is impressive.

He drinks more coffee—at home and at work—than any cop he knows, taking it black because it’s simpler and faster. He suspects it’s a combination of the caffeine intake and the constant graininess of his eyes that prompted the start of the tic—the blinking. He tried to stop initially, even to the point of cutting back on coffee and trying again to get some sleep every night, but he soon realized that the tic didn’t seem to signify weakness to anyone. If anything, people—especially suspects—became more on-edge around him. It’s as if they sense the lack of rest, interpret it to mean that his inhibitions are lower, that he might actually cross lines put in place to protect them from guys like him (about that, they’re kind of right).

He resumes drinking just as much coffee, stops trying for sleep that will never come, and spends his night hours instead researching, reviewing, and practicing keeping his brain sharp. The blinking stops bothering him, and eventually, he stops noticing it altogether.

Captain O’Malley refuses to let him pull all-nighters at the station when the cases he’s working on aren’t as time-sensitive, so he takes case files home and works on them there. He thinks O’Malley knows, but there’s not much he can do—aside from making Loki go home, he can’t tell him what to do with his personal life.

Still, every time Loki closes a case, O’Malley makes him take a couple of days off. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, anyone to see, or anything important to work on, so the boredom is crippling and he can hardly wait to get back to work.

Still, the sleep he gets on nights when he doesn’t have an active case is about the most restful he can expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the topic of the blinking tic, Jake Gyllenhaal had this to say: "Physical things, like the twitch and stuff like that, that sort of began as an idea, early on. It really just felt right; I can't exactly explain why at first. And then, as I realized that he had so much going on in his mind, so many pieces of information to hold onto, and, emotionally, he was repressing so much, that sometimes that comes out in strange physical ways and attributes and tics. And I found that to be a way in which it was like an expression of this emotional state; he just couldn't emote, because it would hurt the case. It could hurt him in trying to figure out the case, it could cause great doubt. So he was just dealing with computing so much that it was almost like an overload. It was like a glitch." ([x](http://news.moviefone.com/2013/09/09/jake-gyllenhaal-prisoners-interview/))
> 
> With that in mind, I wanted to think about why _Loki_ thinks the twitch developed. We can infer from him wearing the same outfit for days in a row, how tired he looks, and how obviously driven he is that he probably doesn't sleep nearly enough. I also don't think that he's one for a lot of self-reflection unless he has to do it in order to be effective, that therapists probably make him uncomfortable and he holds himself to seriously rigid standards so that he's never forced to go see one-- standards that include squashing emotional responses before they can become a problem or before people start taking notice of his reactions. Of course, he's bound to slip every now and again once things build up beyond his control (as with the scene with the keyboard at the station), but for the most part, it works. 
> 
> With those things in mind, I think sleep deprivation would be the most likely explanation that Loki is willing to accept and offer for this twitch thing he's suddenly developed after taking on the responsibility and the emotional burden of being a police detective.
> 
> edit: this fic is on hiatus until I rewatch Prisoners and inevitably get all worked up about it again. there will be more eventually.


End file.
